


Supersonic

by Anarchyinplasma



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, FighterPilot!Fareeha, Short, Vague idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/pseuds/Anarchyinplasma
Summary: Before she was accepted as a Raptora pilot, Fareeha Amari was a fighter pilot, and despite all she's accomplished, she still misses a lot.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Supersonic

Fareeha Amari has always enjoyed flying, Raptora is the best she’s ever had, engines synced to a neural network in her helmet means she has wings made of thunder and fire at her beck and call, but before Raptora and Helix, Fareeha was a fighter pilot, and the stereotype is a point of pride for her. She’s not her mother, she’s the opposite, where her mother is a precise sniper trained to lie patiently in weight on the battlefield for days with the moniker of the greatest markswoman in history; Fareeha on the battlefield is loud, angry, and very, very, very fast.

Well, Fareeha isn’t, but Pharah most certainly is.

She’s not ashamed to admit she’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie, again it’s a point of pride, you can’t be a fighter pilot without a love of danger and speed. Which isn’t to say she takes unnecessary risks, she doesn’t, not too much; but sometimes the feeling of the air streaming past the cockpit or through her hair gets to her and no matter what she’s in control of the throttle is pushed uncomplaining right the way to the firewall and she’s gone faster than the eye can process.

It’s the one thing she misses with Raptora, the suit is good, better than her early Rafale in every way except one crucial thing she misses, Raptora can’t go supersonic.

It’s obviously not within the specifications or the limits of reality, she understands that. The Raptora is a single person CAS platform with limitless maneuverability that doubles as a ground-based heavy assault unit with armour plating that can shrug off small arms fire with relative ease. But sometimes she wishes she could feel that rush again, levers under her hand smoothly sliding upwards and the airframe taking the strain effortlessly as she enters supercruise and then the afterburner lights up while the sound barrier lies shattered in her wake.

After the recall, she and Lena have become very good friends, swapping stories like all pilots do. Fareeha looks up to the other woman with near hero worship at the start, Lena Oxton is a living legend in terms of pilots, a legend so good she was handpicked to test the Slipstream, as badly as that ended up turning out. But even before Slipstream she was going down in history, the Oxton cross-cut is a move taught in most modern combat flight schools (ever so distantly, Fareeha can admit to a tiny fragment of jealousy that the only Amari technique in any discipline to come out of the past generation will be guaranteed to be named after her mother).

But as they become closer friends Fareeha is relieved to find her hero worship falling at the wayside, replaced with genuine respect and friendship, they have endless stories to swap at meals or in the hanger, sometimes Angela will join them, if she can be dragged protesting from her office-themed pile of medical journals that could, Fareeha thinks, resemble a real work space; given a month of cleaning with earth-moving equipment and some dynamite.

“Are the motorcycles a pilot thing Lena?” Angela asks one day, head laid in Fareeha’s lap as the pilot is on her back, elbows deep in the guts of her motorcycle’s engine.  
“Not always” a small spiky head peaks out from the inner workings of the Orca’s front landing gear; “but it’s always got to be something fast, convertibles, bikes, etc. Why?”  
“Just a little curious.” Angela tells her, eyes still scouring through her tablet full of medical jargon.

\---

Angela Ziegler has always been a bit disconcerted by speed and adrenaline. She’s not afraid of danger, she is technically a combat veteran, her Valkyrie has built in free-flight potential, but she’s never had the drive to feel the world speeding past just for the rush.

When she and Fareeha had reunited after the recall, (as soon as Angela had had a brief heart-attack over the fact that the little girl who used to have a crush on her had turned into a strapping six foot hardened soldier with a sixteen-pack that she imagined could cut glass and promptly descended into a gay panic), they had begun experimenting with potential battlefield applications for the combination of their equipment, and it worked remarkably well, the Valkyrie flight systems could be slaved to the Raptora’s, turning Fareeha into an airborn menace and rendering Angela nearly free from harm, but Fareeha had always been conscious that she couldn’t move too fast, lest the connection be disrupted and Angela potentially come to harm; so the good doctor had never really come to feel the thrill of speed.

Early one morning, she watches from the window of her office, idly doodling on the pad she’s supposed to be writing on, as Fareeha races laps of the courtyard, wind blowing at her hair and the leather flight jacket that Angela has occasionally fallen asleep wrapped up in, eyes protected from the blazing sun by her classic aviators and her dark hair streaming behind her in the wind as an almost manic smile splits her face in unbridled joy at the feeling of speed.

Angela looks at the mound of paperwork that has consumed what used to be her desk and the dizzyingly high stack of medical journal printouts covering what used to be her office-chairs and decides that if the paper hasn’t bonded together into a sentient lifeform called form-zilla (a tiny part of her mind wonders what in God’s name Fareeha put in her coffee this morning to inspire that thought) to be defeated with a pen yet then it can probably wait a few minutes.

A few minutes later she’s down in the courtyard, gentle breeze playing with the hair around her face as Fareeha slows to a halt in front of her, the whine of the supercharger guttering to a halt as the bike starts to hover still.  
“Need a ride Doctor?” she asks, all smooth pilot’s charm while she runs a hand through her tousled hair and the rising sun bathes her in a warm orange glow and Angela nearly dissolves into a gay puddle but steels her willpower and plays along.  
“Just around, wanted to see what all the fuss is about.” Fareeha’s response is a roguish grin.  
“Mount up then Doctor” she pulls her glasses down for a salacious wink before handing Angela her spare sunglasses, “you’ll want these for the wind and sun” she explains as Angela slips the mirrored blue aviators over her eyes and wraps her arms tightly around Fareeha’s waist.

A gentle push later and they’re off, picking up speed slowly at first, before Fareeha decides to have a little bit of fun with her lover and opens the taps to full for a split second. Angela makes an undignified squeak and tightens her grip on the pilot's waist as the bike lurches with sudden massive acceleration. Fareeha cackles and Angela pouts as she relaxes the iron-like grip slightly, then they pick up speed more gradually, the bike’s supercharger grows to a squirming throaty whine and the wind rushes by as they shoot off like a rocket down the straight.

Angela tightens her grip minutely as Fareeha hunches over the bars, clearly revelling in the sensation of speed, the pilot’s warm body almost seems to thrum with energy under her fingers, completely relaxed despite the ludicrous acceleration and having the time of her life as she speeds around, feeling the wind ripple at her clothes and hair and Angela pressed tightly into her back.

“See what all the fuss is about?” Fareeha teases as she slows to a crawl to make it around some cones that Winston has left, cordoning off a section of runway in need of repairs.  
“Hmm” Angela hums into the back of her neck before deciding on the honest answer, “a bit, but not really.” She gets a warm laugh in response.  
“Fair, I guess it really is a pilot thing”  
“Why?” Angela asks, more curious now than when she started this line of inquiry on a vague thought in the hanger.  
“It’s weird,” Fareeha replies, speeding up minutely as she exits the bollards but keeping the speed down so they can talk with ease, “I flew a Dassault Rafale before I was a Raptora pilot. I could break the sound barrier with ease, with this” she gestures down at the bike humming beneath them, “or even the Raptora; I can’t do that, the sensation of speed is there, although it’s lacking the power of supercruise or an afterburner.”  
“Hmm” Angela hums against her neck again, slipping her fingers under the bottom hem of Fareeha’s top under her jacket as the supercharger screams and the bike accelerates again.

They run laps for another hour and a half, before Angela remembers the rather large mountain of paperwork still in her office and has to stop.  
“I should get to the gym anyway” Fareeha says as she pulls to a stop and pulls her jacket off, draping it over her lover’s shoulders with a smirk after Angela dismounts; “I know you fall asleep in my jacket when I’m not here Angela” her grin turns from a cocky smirk to a genuine smile. “Don’t work too late okay?” With a gentle kiss to the blonde’s lips she strides off, leaving Angela with a smile of her own, Fareeha’s spare sunglasses covering her eyes and her flight jacket draped over her shoulders.

As she climbs the stairs to her office, Angela isn’t thinking about her work, but about what Fareeha said before.

She walks into her office, sunglasses pushed up on top of her head, sits at her desk, pushes some papers aside and wakes her computer from sleep, then once she’s looked up the price of a Dassalt Rafale, she wonders if she can convince Winston that a €68.8 million fighter jet would be a necessary addition to their operating budget.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just an idea, I hope someone likes it, honestly it was just spawned from the idea of Mercy cuddled in Fareeha's old flight jacket because of her Top Gun skin and aviators and honestly I just wanna commission art of that because it would be adorable.


End file.
